


When Storms May Pass

by grumpygrahams



Series: When Storms May Come [2]
Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Asylum, Heroes (TV)
Genre: Crossover Pairings, M/M, Mutual Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 10:40:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2345435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumpygrahams/pseuds/grumpygrahams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[AU] Peter wakes up with Oliver tight against him, the storm outside subsiding into a light drizzle. Together they cross a line they haven't been presented with before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Storms May Pass

Both men had slept peacefully, one curled against the other, the other letting himself being enveloped by the offered comfort. It was a peace treaty of sorts. You give me what I want and I won’t take what isn’t mine. It was how the world worked – always. Everyone was in the flow and ebb of trade and partnership. It was found in relationships, world trade, countries on the brink of war and countless other foundations where there was more than one person was involved.

It was how Peter Petrelli found himself covering Oliver Thredson’s body with his own. He had offered his services of touch and understanding, of comfort and affection, for the chance to get out of the hellhole of Briarcliff. If he was any lesser of a man he would of fled the moment they exited the car in the drive of Thredson’s home but Peter had other motives. He had found this man, much like Sylar, to be in need of fixing – of healing. Unfortunately as time progressed Peter realized that there would be no such thing. That this mind was bent and broken by time itself. So now Peter stayed because he had no other option. He could, of course, run but that would leave more people at the hands of Bloody Face, no doubt the portrayal of Oliver’s wrath. The mask was his excuse. Peter would not be for the lives that would be ended. 

So Peter lied to himself, saying he stayed to keep an eye on Oliver so he wouldn’t kill anymore. The bloodlust has bayed almost completely but both knew that it was only a matter of time before something snapped, if not between them then outside forces, and they would be fighting against each other to end the other’s life. They played the game of time now. Two months in and things were still steady, still in the illusion that things would be okay. Oliver began dropping little hints of starting a family but Peter didn’t engage. He didn’t know if it meant a child or meant a mother. There was no family to be had in his mind.

The rain outside had subsided, as Peter predicted, from its tyranny and had dissolved into something of a light drizzle. It was still cold and the dampness from the outside tried to claw its way inside the house, seeping into the walls and furniture. Peter refused to move from bed because of it. Oliver was wrapped tightly in his arms, chest to chest, legs tangled in a heap beneath the sheets with the rest of them. He had to admit it was nice to wake up not alone and cold, even if it was with the man who kidnapped him. 

This was the beginning of the downfall.

Peter needed to pee and he shifted to try and untangle himself from Oliver but the man’s arms instantly came around his neck, pulling tight, his nose pressing itself into Peter’s chest, inhaling softly. He was awake. Peter tried to move again but the arms only tightened and it made Peter huff slightly.

“Oliver, I need to go to the bathroom.” He whispered but he paused, feeling the pressing of an erection against his thigh. Oliver canted his hips again and rolled them, rubbing himself against Peter’s leg again and let out a small puff of air against his neck as his mouth graced his skin. Peter’s hands came to rest on Olvier’s hips, holding him gently as the man set a small rhythm. Peter couldn’t help himself as he felt the blood rush to his own groin. A small noise rose from deep in his chest, nearly a growl, as he hauled them in one great twist of arms and body until Oliver was lying fully atop him. The man stopped, looking down at Peter curiously and he could see how scared he was. This was a line they never crossed before.

Peter bucked his hips up against Oliver’s, an encouragement to continue, and the man expressed only a moment’s hesitation before his head dropped next to Peter’s, cheek to cheek, and he resumed. Peter noted the slight flushed cheeks, the embarrassment he saw before Oliver hid it with the ducking of his head. Peter kept his hands on Oliver’s slim hips, helping guide the man until both of them lined up perfectly and they were able to grind against each other with little resistance. 

Both of them were deprived in this area and it was only moments until he felt Oliver stutter a bit, his hips jerking twice more, forcefully, until he stilled above them. He began to move but Peter objected.

“Hold on. Just –“ He left the words to an end as his hands slid to Oliver’s ass, pulling him tight against him as he bucked up, eyes closing and head falling back against the pillows. So close. So wrong. He shuddered against Oliver as he came, spilling himself in his underwear just like Oliver had. He felt like he was in high school again, getting off just by rubbing his junk against some awkward teenage girl. The thought made Peter smile, laugh lightly. Slowly he let his vision come back to him, long lashes parting and Oliver was there, watching him with a childlike curiosity. 

“I’ve never done that before.” His eyes flicked down to Peter’s lips, no doubt remembering the kiss from the night before. “With a man, I mean…” Peter couldn’t tell if he was angry, disgusted, distraught, or a dangerous concoction of all three. He honestly didn’t want to find out any more than he wanted to leave the bed again, insistent pressure on his bladder be damned.

Carefully, he lifted a hand up from its hold on Oliver and swept it through the unruly hair upon his head, sweeping it back to try and tame it, clearing it from the other’s eyes and keeping the touch gentle as a mother’s. If he could play his cards right – oh yes. There it is. Oliver’s own eyes closed and he turned his cheek into Peter’s touch, letting his face be cupped by Peter’s palm. He let his other hand run freely up and down Oliver’s back, soothing away the worry and confusion Oliver no doubt had running through his mind. Sometimes Peter forgot this was a different time, different era where things weren’t as accepted as it was in his time. Oliver had more than his conflicting emotions to wage war with but the whole of society, including his professional title.

“It’s okay.” Peter crooned, rising to let his lips press gently against Oliver’s forehead. Everything needed to be gentle. Soft. Reassuring. He placed another kiss above Oliver’s left eye, then the right. “It will be okay.” How many times had he said this to Oliver? That everything will be okay when things surely were not? “You did nothing wrong.”

Oliver’s hands came to curl loosely on Peter’s chest as he continued to take in the soft notions of comfort, now only half faux. Peter genuinely wanted to see the man at ease and to see the world not as a place of horrors but one of good. “You were a good boy.” To anyone else it may seem patronizing but he knew Oliver would be beaming at the compliment. Peter wanted to say he had Oliver figured out but he was afraid that if he did, he would be wrong. And being wrong would cost him his life.

His hands slipped down Oliver’s arm, over the fine dark hairs and smiled warmly at him. Oliver blinked, his brow furrowing in confusion again at why the affection was stopped. Peter’s chest rose with an intake of air, and settled as he spoke. “Why don’t we go get cleaned up? It’s Sunday and I would love to stay in bed with you, I would, but I believe you have some paperwork and I am very hungry…”

He waited.

He saw no flash of annoyance.

No anger.

Hesitance.

 

“Will you take a bath with me?” A demand hidden in a small question.

Peter nodded, already feeling the smile, that of relief, grace his lips. He rubbed up Oliver’s arms again, curving around his shoulders and then settling on the back of his neck, thumbs stroking at the soft hairs at the nape. The touch was too intimate for that of a child but Oliver didn’t seem to mind. They were brothers, after all.  
“Of course I will, Oliver. Why don’t you go start the bath and I’ll join you in a moment, all right? I think there is some bubble bath under the sink.”

The man gave a giddy nod, his face lighting up brightly as he nearly bounded out of bed and to the conjoined bathroom. Peter waited, listening carefully until he heard the bath start, water filling the tub. The empath fell back against the pillows, exhaling loudly, now unsure of any decision he was making in regards to Oliver Thredson. They had crossed a line, yes, but many obstacles were needed to be crossed before that, had been, and now Peter found himself caring for the man. The emotions were unneeded and dangerous. Peter truly fears that if he continues like this that he will fall completely into the realm that Oliver had set up for him and he would not find his way back.


End file.
